


The Darktown Job

by morierblackleaf



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morierblackleaf/pseuds/morierblackleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both of their lives have been riddled with sorrow, violence, and death, but together, Hawke and Fenris have found some peace and happiness. However, after taking a job in Darktown to clear out some unsavory characters, their relationship is tested when Hawke learns something about Fenris that the elf would rather no one else knew -- a lesson that forces Hawke to choose between doing right and doing right by Fenris.</p>
<p>
  <i>Highly explicit sex in graphic detail, F.Y.I. I warned you!</i>
</p>
<p><b>Male Warrior Hawke/Fenris,</b> but all the usual companions are featured. This story is non-canon in that I do not intend to involve particular events from the games, although I will try to stick to canon when it comes to characterizations, places, and general events. Fair warning, though -- specific details, dates, and such are subject to be altered by my whims. The summary, tags, and warnings are also subject to change as I firm up the content of the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this as a lark. I have an actual story in mind that extends from this one chapter, but right now I'm just testing the waters, so to speak. So, for now, have some smut. After this chapter, there may be a story... and of course, more smut. Thanks!

Hawke lay quietly in bed, rolled upon his side to face Fenris so that he could watch the elf sleep. The elf never half-assed anything. When he was fighting, which was often, the elf pulled no punches. If Fenris drank, which was rarely since he did not like to lose control, he drank to get utterly intoxicated. When he ate, which happened irregularly at best, Fenris ate as if he might never eat again. And when he slept, which occurred only when the elf was too exhausted to continue without rest, Fenris slept so soundly that not even the mabari’s incessant barking could wake him.

Right now, his vivid eyes hidden and his face lax with slumber, Fenris looked peaceful, which was unusual to see. Hawke often found himself staying awake just to watch the elf sleep – when Fenris managed to sleep, that is. The latent fury and barely concealed trepidation that the elf usually schooled into stoicism was for now absent from Fenris’ features. Hawke loved the elf whether he was slicing the head off a slaver or snoring softly into his pillow, but it was a treat to be able to enjoy the elf while Fenris was so serene. Of course, it took Fenris being asleep for the elf to be this peaceful, which meant that Hawke spent a lot of sleepless nights just watching Fenris breathe.

Hawke ran a hand over his face, thinking with a noisy sigh, _We need to wake up early to go to Darktown tomorrow morning. I ought to try to sleep for a few hours, at least._

But when he removed his hand from over his eyes, Hawke found that Fenris was asleep no longer. In fact, the elf was looking right at him. This was another of Hawke’s most cherished times with the elf – that is, the moments when first Fenris woke, before the memories of his life as a slave crept back in, before his mind conjured the hate filled imagining of killing his former master Danarius, or before the guarded and carefully constructed mask that he wore for everyone else fell into place over his striking features.

“Why are you awake?” the elf grumbled, blinking his emerald eyes to clear them of the vestiges of sleep.

He didn’t answer because he couldn’t think of a good excuse that wasn’t a lie. Hawke was very careful not to lie to Fenris – not even a small lie to spare his feelings. Earning Fenris’ trust had taken years but losing it could take seconds. So instead, unthinkingly and acting on an impulsive desire to touch Fenris, Hawke reached out to clear the small expanse of mattress between them. He ran one finger over the lyrium markings upon Fenris’ chin, moving upwards to slide his fingertip along the swell of the elf’s bottom lip. In response, Fenris opened his mouth the slightest bit to let the tip of Hawke’s finger slide between his lips. The moist warmth of the elf’s mouth was enough to waken the human’s desire.

 _I ought to leave him be. He will cranky tomorrow if I do not let him sleep,_ the human told himself, but by then, the sleepily confused look upon Fenris’ face had softened into prurient interest.

Fenris rose from his side of the wide, soft bed and shifted until he was sitting by Hawke’s hip. Wordlessly, the elf flung the blanket back from Hawke’s bare body, exposing him completely. Apparently, Fenris hadn’t truly cared to be answered, else he would not have given up so easily. The elf laid his own nude, limber body down beside Hawke’s thicker form, and slid his hands down the length of Hawke’s chest, while his lips latched onto the sensitive skin where Hawke’s jaw and ear met.

 _No chance Varric won’t notice that tomorrow,_ he thought absently of how the dwarf would find some snide remark to make about what would end up being significant bruising to Hawke’s neck.

He laid there for a few moments, letting Fenris do as he pleased without touching the elf in return – at least, until Fenris’ fingers slipped between the human’s legs to grasp his shaft. At this, Hawke wrapped his arms around Fenris, his own hands moving to caress the elf’s svelte flesh, before he sought out the firming shaft between Fenris’ legs and paid him the same attention. The elf moved from the human’s neck to his mouth, where he explored Hawke’s teeth, tongue, and lips in a methodical claim of the human. In increasingly insistent, teasing tugs, Fenris manipulated Hawke’s rising cock until the human was grumbling into the elf’s busy mouth.

“You woke me,” Fenris complained good-naturedly, giving Hawke a lopsided grin, “now you have to exhaust me back to sleep.”

As he did with all things, the elf wasn’t about to do this half-assed, either. His desire roused, Fenris would not stop until they were both sated and drained. And now that he had the opportunity, Hawke wasn’t about to deny Fenris. Moreover, Hawke wanted Fenris – not just for a quick and simple release, but fully. Therefore, it was his turn, he knew. If he wanted to take the elf, he had to prepare him.

Hawke also wanted to taste the elf, to spend time teasing him, to bring him to the precipice of climax before seating himself inside Fenris. Fenris did not want the human towering over him; Hawke knew this. He had learnt quickly that the elf liked to be in control and he hated to be in any position that could be considered submissive. This didn’t mean that Hawke never took the initiative or was a passive partner, but more often than not, Fenris was the one who decided when, where, and how. Not that Hawke minded. He was ecstatic to have Fenris and would take him any way that he could get. Hawke never complained. He loved when Fenris rode him. He loved to have both hands free to tease the elf’s shaft, to run across the lyrium-decorated flesh of his chest, and to see Fenris’ face when he peaked. In a flash of inspiration, Hawke slid off the mattress and to his knees beside the bed.

“This way,” he instructed even as he took hold of Fenris’ thighs to guide him to the edge.

With the elf’s rear hanging half off the mattress, his legs lying over Hawke’s shoulders and thus also spread wide, the human had access to the elf’s shaft and rear. Most importantly, he was on his knees before the elf, as if in worship of him, rather than hovering over him like a predator devouring its prey. Hawke wasted only a moment to enjoy the view of the elf’s clandestine flesh before he pressed his whiskered face between the shapely halves of Fenris’ ass, kissing and licking his way from the sensitive area underneath the elf’s sacs to Fenris’ opening, which clenched and twitched in anticipation of Hawke’s attentions. The lurid sight caused Hawke to reach down, his fingers squeezing and playing along his own shaft in time with the motions of his mouth upon Fenris’ body.

Eventually, when Fenris was writhing and bucking into the tongue that invaded him, Hawke pulled away, reached to the table beside the head of the bed, and pulled out the jar of unguent that they used to ease his entrance into the elf. So heady was the sight of the elf before him, so needy had Hawke become, and so beautiful was his elven lover that Hawke’s hands shook with the force of his concupiscence. He nearly dropped the glass jar and fumbled to remove the lid, but once this was done, the human dipped two fingers within to scoop out a generous amount. When he slid the first finger inside Fenris, the elf grunted, causing Hawke to stop to make certain that he was not hurting Fenris, but the elf would not have it. He pushed back against the finger inside him to increase its foray into his body.

“Another,” Fenris ordered huskily.

He did as he was asked and slid a second finger within the elf’s tight breach. The unguent was slippery and soothing, and before long, Fenris was pushing towards and pulling away from Hawke’s fingers, riding the human’s digits. When Hawke curled his fingertips into the elf to find the receptive spot within, Fenris snarled loudly and pulled completely away. This startled Hawke and he worried that he might have hurt the elf, but soon, Fenris sat upright upon the bed, grabbed the human by the shoulders, pulled Hawke to him, and began again to bite and lick at the human’s lips and tongue.

“Enough, Hawke. Now,” the elf finally insisted.

Surprisingly, the elf stood and bent over, and then placed his hands upon the mattress so that his rear was stuck out before Hawke. The man stood. So close was he to the elf that his shaft slid along the outside of Fenris’ leg upon his standing. He watched as Fenris shivered in expectation, ere the elf adjusted himself, scooting to the side so that Hawke’s cock was between the elf’s thighs and closer to where Fenris desired for it to be – inside him.

Hawke paused in sudden apprehension. He did not fear Fenris the way that many who did not know the elf feared him. Certainly, the elf was dangerous, he was a highly skilled and adept warrior, and just the lyrium markings upon his skin caused many people to steer clear of the elf; however, Hawke had never once feared for his life around Fenris. The rage that oftentimes seemed to overwhelm the elf never caused Fenris to act irrationally – rashly, perhaps, but not senselessly. No, he did not fear that Fenris would recall some bad memory and turn to attack him, but that Fenris would recall a bad memory at all. The last thing that Hawke wanted was for Fenris ever to feel pain or fear because of something that Hawke said or did.

“Would you rather I lie down and you be on top?” he asked the elf. They had never had sex where Fenris wasn’t on top or at least where they were both standing.

In wordless answer, Fenris reached behind to where Hawke’s shaft was and guided it towards and then into his impatient, primed opening. Once the head of his shaft was past the outer impediment to Fenris’ breach, Hawke needed no more coaxing. In slow, shallow thrusts, he slowly extended Fenris’ opening more and more, pushing deeper before pulling away and pressing forward again.

For a while, this served them both well. Fenris had both hands fisted into the sheet upon the mattress, his head bowed. At this angle, the human’s cock was aimed well to give Fenris the most pleasure that he could, but for Hawke, though he was enjoying himself, he did not like being unable to see the elf’s face, nor could he reach Fenris’ shaft and still steady the elf as their bodies rocked into each other. Fenris would have stopped Hawke had he not been enjoying himself or been uncomfortable, but it was Hawke who was discomfited. It bothered him that the elf’s head was bowed as if in supplication.

“Fenris?” he prompted, slowing his pace. When the elf did not cease pushing back against the human, Hawke seized Fenris’ hips to make him stop.

“What is it?” the elf growled, his voice low and sharp with irritation that his release was being delayed. “Hawke, now is not the time for one of your heart to heart chats,” Fenris protested, wresting his hips out of the man’s hands, which caused Hawke’s shaft to pull free from the elf’s body. Fenris stood upright and turned around so that they faced one another.

The scowl upon the elf’s face was just as endearing to Hawke as was any smile – Hawke loved Fenris’ occasional gloominess and bad temper just as much as he loved his awkward laughter and wry sense of humor. Thus, Hawke was not deterred by Fenris’ obvious annoyance. He reached down to take in his hand the Elf’s long, thick, and sleek shaft, while telling him, “Don’t worry. I don’t want to talk, I want to fuck you.”

The elf had never said so, but Hawke knew for a fact that Fenris loved it when the human spoke of all the pleasurable, obscene things that he wished to do to him. Unable to stop himself, Fenris’ hips twitched forward; still in Hawke’s hand, the elf’s cock slid through the human’s light grip, causing Fenris to groan from the stimulation.

“What then?” the elf asked. “You _were_ fucking me, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Hawke grinned at the elf’s inability to cease seeking pleasure. He tightened his grip upon Fenris’ shaft just to hear the elf growl deep in his throat. Before he answered, the man leant forward so that he could taste the elf’s lips, but before he could pull away, Fenris had Hawke by the back of the neck so that he could deepen their kiss, until they were both out of breath and Hawke nearly forgot what he meant to say. Because Fenris was having a hard time paying attention with his cock in Hawke’s hand, the man released his hold, which caused the elf to snarl again in aggravation.

“Not like this. Either let me lie down and ride me or lie back and face me while I fuck you.” He slid his arms around the elf, his hands sliding from the middle of Fenris’ back down to his ass, where they squeezed the elf’s taut flesh hard, rhythmically pushing together and then pulling apart the two halves of his rear. Hawke pressed his chest against the elf’s, their shafts sliding against each other, and then nipped at the lobe of Fenris’ ear. “I want to see your face while I fuck you, not your back.”

Honestly, Hawke didn’t care which position Fenris chose. Fenris frowned – it was not one of his usual glowers to show that he was angry or irritated, but one that evinced that he was willing but vexed. And yet, Fenris sat back on the bed, spread his legs, and pulled Hawke by the hand until he stood between the elf’s thighs. The human hadn’t felt nervous having sex since the first time he’d ever done it, but right now, worry wormed its way into his chest, and some of the ardor he felt began to dwindle. Hawke was not chancing upsetting Fenris for a few moments of pleasure. The elf finally laid back upon the mattress.

Spreading the elf’s thighs, he slipped back into Fenris, and after a few strokes of his cock inside the elf, Fenris began to push back into Hawke once again. The elf wrapped his legs around the human’s waist to draw him nearer.

“Spread yourself for me, Fenris,” the human asked, careful not to sound too demanding or as if he was ordering the elf. “Let me in as deep as I can get.”

Outright groaning at the lewd suggestion, Fenris did as he was bid, using both hands to spread the halves of his ass so that Hawke could enter him fully. When the heavy sacs under Hawke’s cock were pressed tightly against the inner skin between the Elf’s rear, when Fenris’ legs were bruisingly secure around the human’s waist to keep him from pulling away, and when Hawke felt that the tight warmth of the elf’s innermost flesh could be no more pleasing, Fenris managed to twitch his hips upwards in a way that somehow allowed Hawke further inside the elf.

“Move, Hawke,” the elf ordered crossly, his lower body now jerking constantly as he sought to increase the friction created inside his body. Hawke hadn’t noticed that he’d stopped moving but Fenris definitely had.

“I wish you could see this,” he told Fenris in a halting, breathless mutter. “I wish you could see your body spread wide, your ass pierced and filled with my shaft. I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now.”

All air escaped the elf’s lungs just then in a lecherous mewl before Fenris inhaled sharply. The elf tightened the innermost muscles of his body to clench around Hawke’s shaft, which in turn caused the human to grouse in complaint, “If you do that, you’ll undo me. Let me enjoy you.”

At this, Fenris smirked. His hoary hair tumbling about his face and the matching lines of lyrium on his skin dancing as the sinewy muscles of the elf’s body writhed, Fenris bucked his hips violently upwards and against Hawke’s intruding cock. The slow pace that the human had meant to keep so that he could ensure Fenris’ well-being and prolong their pleasure was forgotten – Hawke rammed his own hips into the elf, causing Fenris to bounce upon the mattress and slide away from the edge. But Hawke merely followed. He pulled out of Fenris’ opening almost completely, leaving only the tip of his cock inside, and then slammed forward. When the force of this caused the moaning elf to skid along the bed away from Hawke even more, the human grabbed hold of Fenris’ thighs, pulled him back to the edge, and then with this tight hold upon the elf, pulled nearly out of the elf’s body once more before he pounded into Fenris.

Despite that he had wanted this position so that he could see Fenris’ face to ensure that the elf was well, Hawke needn’t have worried that his lover was enjoying himself. Fenris’ raucous, animalistic growls and violent bucking told the human that his elven lover was enjoying himself thoroughly. But Hawke could not seem to move fast enough, could not get deep enough, and was not thrusting hard enough for Fenris. So in the end, with his legs wrapped around Hawke’s waist and Hawke’s cock never slipping free of the elf’s opening, Fenris sat up, pushed the human backwards, and together they fell onto the floor with the elf’s legs still tight around Hawke’s middle. The back of Hawke’s head hit the floor painfully, his back smacked against the thinly carpeted stone tiles, but even when falling, he did not release his grip upon Fenris – not even to try to break his fall. It must have hurt Fenris to have his legs trapped under Hawke when the human hit the floor, but the elf did not seem to care. With a grace and quickness that still surprised Hawke every time he saw it, Fenris easily slid his legs out from under Hawke’s torso and planted his feet upon the floor so that he could be in control now.

This was how they usually did this – with Fenris riding Hawke like the human was a rearing stallion. Although they loved each other, Fenris and Hawke were not making love – they were rutting like two animals. Fenris never did anything half-assed, no, and sex was no exception.

Once again, the elf reached behind him and spread the globes of his ass, pressing downwards until the human’s cock could reach no further depths of the elf’s body. Fenris then supported his weight with his hands on either side of the human’s knees and leant back; the elf lifted his hips slightly before crashing back down in savage need. Again and again, Fenris lifted himself up only to slam back down, plunging the human’s cock as deeply as he could get it, as if he wanted more, as if he needed Hawke to reach something inside him. Since the elf was the one setting their ferocious speed, the human did not worry that Fenris was hurting himself, but Hawke knew that it had to sting at least a little. He also knew that Fenris was relishing it anyway. Besides, the elf liked to mix a little pain with his pleasure – as did Hawke.

Long though he did, Hawke did not reach out to stroke the elf’s cock, which slapped against Hawke’s belly with each of Fenris’ vicious thrusts down onto the human’s shaft. Hawke did not want Fenris to come just yet. He wanted to taste the elf; it seemed that Fenris wanted the same, for he soon said so. The elf hissed at the human, “I want your seed… now. I want to feel it dripping from my aching arse while you are swallowing my cock.”

Between Fenris’ spoken desire to have Hawke fill him with his seed and the elf’s forceful pace, the human could not have lasted another moment, even had not the thought of doing as Fenris suggested – that is, swallowing the elf’s shaft down his throat – overtaken his mind. Hawke heard Fenris gasp when the human began vigorously propelling his cock upwards, bouncing and jostling the elf upon the shaft that impaled his ass.

“I want you to fill me with your seed, Hawke. I want to feel its heat inside of me,” Fenris encouraged, his typically gravelly voice even more gruff than normal.

With a loud cry that could likely be heard in Lowtown, Hawke did as the elf asked and spilled inside him. Fenris kept moving, though, milking the human of every drop, extracting from Hawke another wordless shout as tremors of pleasure wracked his body. His chest heaving for air, the human tried to catch his breath; Fenris now rocked slowly back and forth, massaging the human’s shaft and blisteringly hot seed inside of his deepest flesh. Fenris wore a sated grin, having gotten his fill of the human’s seed – quite literally – though he had not yet spilled his own. Hawke would remedy that. Sliding his thickly muscled forearms under the elf’s slim thighs, he all but threw Fenris off him and onto the mattress, then grabbed the elf’s ankles to yank him back to the edge. Once more, Hawke draped Fenris’ thighs over the human’s shoulders with his head between the elf’s spread ass.

He licked and bit at the sore flesh of the elf’s rear, his tongue teasing the stretched ring of muscles of Fenris’ entrance. Upon his tongue were the sweet tasting unguent they had used and the salty taste of Hawke’s own seed. Snaking one hand around Fenris’ thigh, he took the elf’s shaft in hand, running his thumb along the underside of it while he thrust his tongue inside Fenris’ ass as he had only moments before been thrusting his cock. Fenris was now moaning unabashedly, his peak near; and so, Hawke lapped his way up to the elf’s shaft, fervently taking it between his lips and into his mouth, using his tongue to swirl around his lover’s arousal. Hawke loved this. He would never grow tired of Fenris’ taste or the sounds that he made. Hawke suckled the elf’s cock wantonly, allowing and encouraging Fenris to writhe up off the bed, to push his shaft in and out of Hawke’s willing and eager mouth.

“I wish you could see this,” the elf teased with a flippant, vulgar grin, mirroring what Hawke had said to him a short while ago in telling the human, “I wish you could see me sliding my cock inside your mouth, down your throat. I wish you could see how beautiful you look with my shaft between your lips.”

Had he not already found his own climax, Hawke might have come just then. Indeed, the elf’s lustful words were causing the human’s shaft to waken again, but Hawke ignored it. He truly wished that he could see what Fenris saw, for clearly the elf was enjoying the sight. He couldn’t respond, obviously, and so only moaned his answer. The vibrations of Hawke’s mouth upon the elf’s cock brought Fenris to a higher level of pleasure – the elf’s belly muscles contracted and expanded, causing his upper body to lift off the mattress and then arch at the waist, his head thrashing against the tangled blankets. A flush was spreading across Fenris’ silver-lined, slender chest and lissome belly, up his graceful neck, and to his angular face as the elf’s climax neared.

When Fenris finally came, it was with his hand twisted in the back of Hawke’s hair, the skin of his navel tight to the human’s lips, and his cock deep inside Hawke’s gullet. The elf released Hawke’s hair and fell back onto the bed, his arms splayed out and his body at utter ease from his release. The human began to lave Fenris’ shaft and the downy sacs underneath with his tongue to savor every drop of seed he could find, and once clean, Hawke licked and nipped his way upwards, marking Fenris’ flesh with his teeth and scratchy beard, until he stretched himself out beside Fenris and claimed his mouth. Zealously, the elf returned the kiss, tasting his own seed upon Hawke’s lips and tongue. The human mimicked Fenris’ position in lying sprawled out sideways upon the bed. In comfortable silence, they remained that way until finally, the elf kicked and squirmed his way into lying with his head upon the pillows. Though reluctant to move, Hawke followed suit.

They did not bother to clean up. In fact, both elf and human were rather fond of lying abed, covered in each other’s sweat and seed, and would worry about bathing in the morning before their venture to Darktown. When Fenris turned over onto his side away from Hawke, the human slid closer and draped one arm over the elf’s waist.

“Now maybe,” Fenris murmured drowsily, slumber already taking hold of him, “you could sleep instead of just watching me.”

With his bearded face pressed hard against the back of the elf’s neck, their bodies aligned like two spoons in a drawer, Hawke smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, not sure if anyone is reading, but I decided to write another chapter. If anyone is reading, enjoy! :)

Hawke rapped his sword against the wooden slats of a crate to knock off the gore that was stuck to his blade. He watched idly as two young kids helped a woman up the ladder that led out of the slavers’ hiding place, where they had stashed a group of elven and human women and children. The kids and woman were the last of the freed captives to flee, which they had only done after thanking Hawke profusely. They had all been very eager to leave, to return to their families or homes, to forget that they had nearly been sold off to masters in a distant land. Some of the captives had been injured, so Anders had instructed them to go to his clinic nearby and wait for him, where he would heal them in turn once his mana was regenerated enough. First, though, Anders set about helping his friends with what mana he had left.

Indeed, once the woman and kids were up the ladder and out of sight, a warm feeling spread over Hawke’s body that was accompanied by a temporary, fleeting flash of light; Hawke looked back just in time to see Anders lowering his hands. The mage nodded at him but turned away quickly, his overwrought features fixed into what was becoming Anders’ permanent expression of melancholy and disappointment.

“Thanks,” he told the mage, grateful for the healing spell, although his injuries had been minor.

Anders didn’t respond. The mage didn’t say much these days. His mind was typically occupied with his manifesto and dreams of revolution, although every now and then, Hawke would catch the mage staring at him with the same longing with which Hawke used to stare at Fenris. It was Hawke’s fault, he knew. When first he had met Anders, before he had met Fenris, he had flirted with the mage a bit. He hadn’t meant to lead on Anders and might have pursued the mage, had not he become utterly infatuated with Fenris upon first sight.

Hawke looked around the dark and crumbling room to check that all the slavers were dead and not just injured or unconscious, but also to ascertain that Varric and Fenris were unscathed. Varric, who usually managed to stay back and away from the worst of the fighting, didn’t have a speck of blood on him and nary a cut, but Fenris, who was always in the thick of things right beside Hawke, was inspecting his arm, where one of the slaver’s blades had grazed the unprotected skin just above where his gauntlet ended. It was barely more than a scratch, but without being asked, Anders cast the same healing spell upon Fenris, who scowled at Anders as if the mage were attacking him rather than aiding him.

 _Anders did that just to piss off Fenris,_ Hawke decided with a sigh.

And it worked. No sooner had the mage lowered his hands than Fenris and Anders began to bicker, as they’d been doing all morning.

He had a motley lot of friends, to be sure, who did not often see eye to eye, but for him and for common purpose, they tried to get along. And yet, nothing that Hawke could say or do could ever seem to ameliorate the tension between Fenris and Anders, no matter what he tried. Even now, after slaughtering two dozen slavers and freeing the poor souls who’d been snatched out of Darktown’s alleys and hovels to be sold like cattle, Anders and Fenris were at each other’s throats about something that they had been going on about since earlier that morning. Hawke wasn’t sure what had started the argument because he had learnt long ago that pleading ignorance was sometimes his only defense. He hated choosing sides between his friends because he loved them fiercely; he accepted them as they were – flaws and all. That didn’t mean that Hawke didn’t try to steer them in the right direction. That’s what friends were for – to be there through the hard times as well as the good, and to offer the counsel that no one else dared to.

But he truly loved Fenris, without question. He sympathized with Fenris. He knew what incited the elf’s rage for mages. But Hawke also loved Anders. He was a good friend. He also commiserated with Anders, who wanted the same thing that Fenris did – the freedom to live a life without fear, without oppression for being different, and without shame for merely existing. Fenris was an elf, which to many humans made him a thing, a possession that could be owned and treated however one’s master wished, and which made him disposable, while Anders was a mage, which to those without magic made him a threat, a menace that needed to be controlled, and which also meant that he might be made a tool of sorts by the Templars.

Hawke bent down to check one of the slaver’s weapons. He was always on the lookout for upgrades to his own arsenal. As he checked the sword over, he thought, _If only I could make them see how alike they truly are then Fenris and Anders might be allies._ However, Fenris’ hatred of mages ran deep, and while it was understandable, Hawke did not condone it. His father had been a mage. His sister was a mage, as well, and she was currently trapped in the Gallows, where Anders might end up if he didn’t exercise more caution, especially in regards to his plastering all of the city with copies of his manifesto. Still, Hawke couldn’t fault Fenris, though, for hating mages, when all that he’d ever known of mages was pain and humiliation. All he could do was slowly work on the elf’s blind hate and hope that one day Fenris would be more accepting.

And so, for now, Hawke ignored his two bickering friends. Instead, the warrior continued searching the slavers’ bodies for clues, for coin, or for anything that might be of use. As Isabela was wont to say, if they killed them, they got their stuff. Hawke had wealth now, but he never turned down more free coin. Rising with a grunt after finding nothing but a stale biscuit and a dull shiv on the leader of the slavers, Hawke looked for Varric. Oftentimes, when Fenris and Anders were fighting, Varric could be seen rolling his eyes and shaking his head – that is, except for when he egged them on for his own amusement.

 _At least he’s staying out of it today,_ Hawke noticed of the dwarf.

Across the way, Varric was fondling Bianca, as he often did when thinking, when drinking, or sometimes just to make others uncomfortable with the strangely sexual display of profound affection he held for his crossbow. At seeing Hawke looking at him, the dwarf grinned and walked over, leaving Fenris and Anders behind – not that they noticed, so entrenched were they in discussing the difference between being a slave and being a mage.

As he sidled up next to Hawke, Varric gave the warrior a sly lift of his eyebrows and said, “Say, Hawke, thought you and Fenris went back to your place to get some rest last night.”

Puzzled, Hawke nodded. He and Fenris had left the Hanged Man early in the evening and gone back to his estate. He couldn’t convince Fenris to move in, but the elf often spent the night there at least two or three times a week – assuming they were actually in Kirkwall rather than on tasks in the surrounding lands. “We did. Made it home before sunset.”

Varric’s mischievous grin grew, causing Hawke to feel like he had fallen for one of Varric’s ruses, though he had yet to figure it out. “Say, Hawke,” the dwarf repeated in the same intentionally ponderous tone, giving Bianca a final stroke before slipping her over his back, “didn’t we clear out all the new gangs of thugs in Hightown… what, last week, wasn’t it?”

Growing ever more confused, Hawke nodded again. He knelt down beside the last of the slavers and checked his pockets, where he found a few silvers and a small bottle of what smelled to be very potent moonshine. He stuck the moonshine in his pocket with the shiv and biscuit. He could sell the junk and earn enough to buy a round at the Hanged Man later. He answered Varric, “Yes, last week. I haven’t seen any more since then.”

The dwarf harrumphed; Varric brushed at his exposed chest hair as if dusting off crumbs. He inquired deliberately, “And you came straight to the Hanged Man to meet me this morning? Didn’t stop off to do some other job first? Didn’t run into any abominations, no blood mages, no angry mobs?”

Now utterly ensnared, Hawke stood, crossed his arms over his chest, and returned the dwarf’s grin while waiting for the punch line. “No. We had an uneventful evening and morning until just now.”

Unable to keep a straight face, Varric outright chortled as he asked, “Are you sure about that? Looks like you had a run in with a desire demon who mistook your neck for your crotch.”

He had forgotten already about the bruising on his throat, where Fenris had latched on with his mouth last night, sucking at the underside of his jaw until he had created a huge, discolored contusion. _I fell for that one,_ he rued to himself, laughing right along with Varric.

“I am no demon and I was not mistaken,” Fenris said abruptly, stoically, having come up behind the dwarf and warrior with Anders just a step behind him. He then smiled, which was ephemeral and rare for the elf to show in public. “Trust me; I know the difference between Hawke’s neck and his crotch. There is a distinct dissimilarity in taste.”

Hawke flushed just a bit at hearing Fenris speak with such ribald humor, although Varric began cackling. _That’s going to end up in his book, I just know it,_ the warrior thought, unable to keep from chuckling right along with Varric. Only Anders was not amused by their conversation. The mage still had a crush on Hawke and it burned him that Hawke had chosen to be with Fenris, especially given that Fenris hated what Anders was, even if he did not exactly hate Anders himself.

To spare Anders from having to listen to anymore of Varric and Fenris’ lecherous jests, since once they got going they would be hard pressed to stop, Hawke told them, “Come on. Let’s go talk to Aveline. She’ll want to know why there are two dozen corpses down here, I would wager.”

As usual, Hawke led the way and the others fell in behind him, luckily without Fenris and Anders resuming their quarrel. Even after several years, he was still in awe that these people looked to him for leadership. He was nothing special, in his thinking. Carver had been the brave one – to the point of being reckless, sometimes – and had been his mother’s favorite, Bethany was the smart one who could never do wrong, and Hawke, well, he’d just been the responsible one. In fact, no matter what had happened, Hawke had been responsible for it, even if it hadn’t been his fault. Shouldering the responsibility for his family and taking care of his mother, brother, and sister had been his impetus in his rise from just another Fereldan refugee to a person of note in Kirkwall. Somehow, Hawke kept collecting more people to look after, it seemed. He now had Merrill, Aveline, Isabela, Varric, Sebastian, Anders, and of course, Fenris, all of whom needed him just as much as he needed them.

No one looked twice at them in Darktown, unlike in the city above, where people would call out to Hawke. Not even Fenris and Hawke’s blood coated clothing earned them a second glance from the jaded residents of Kirkwall’s underbelly. Hawke took them the short distance to Anders’ clinic, where already several of the captives they’d just saved were waiting around the doors for the mage’s help.

“Find me if you need me,” Anders offered to Hawke quietly before he slipped inside to do his chosen work as a healer.

For a moment, Hawke stared at the closed door to the clinic. Hawke knew that it was hard for Anders to be around Fenris these days but he missed the times he and the mage had spent together before Anders had become so utterly serious and withdrawn. Heaving a sigh, Hawke told Varric and Fenris, “Before we go talk to Aveline, let’s stop by the Hanged Man for an ale and something to eat. Nothing like a bloodbath to work up the appetite.”

The dwarf and elf agreed, as they usually did to whatever Hawke suggested, and they moved on, threading their way through the people, stalls, and hovels of Darktown. As they finally came to the exit, which was one of the more disused ones as it necessitated climbing a narrow ladder up to Lowtown, a young fellow came up to them. The young man had dark hair that hung over his face, his clothes were filthy and worn, he was shoeless, and he carried no weapons. Thinking that he was about to be asked for money, Hawke reached into his pocket for the silvers he had found on the slaver, for he was always willing to hand out some coin for the starving, but rather than coming to him, as the beggars usually did, this one went to Fenris. In surprise, Hawke turned around to make certain that Fenris didn’t overreact to the young human. He moved closer to the man, just in case the beggar tried to plead his case with Fenris and ended up trying to touch the elf, which Fenris sometimes reacted poorly to when the touch was uninvited or from a stranger.

But the beggar stopped before getting too close. Without greeting, the young man told the elf, “You killed them.”

No one else was about other than Hawke, Varric, and Fenris, so there was no mistaking that the man was speaking to one of them and not anyone else, though the beggar’s gaze was fully upon Fenris. Hawke wondered, _Is he talking about us killing the slavers?_

Fenris’ carefully blank face gave nothing away, but the elf was tense and his hand was clenching and unclenching. Hawke had seen the elf do this numerous times – right before Fenris would thrust his lyrium-etched hand through someone’s torso.

“You killed them,” the young man was whispering fiercely. With eyes that were wide with fright, the beggar was still angry enough to charge again, “You murdered all of them.”

Ever one to try to be diplomatic, Hawke approached the young beggar with his hands out to show that he was friendly and without drawn weapon. “Who are you? What are you talking about? If you mean the slavers, then we all had a hand in it, but I can’t imagine why you would lament their passing.”

As if suddenly aware that Varric and Hawke were there, too, the beggar spun around to face them, though he then backed away so that he was out of reach of Fenris. “You. You’re the Champion,” the young man said to Hawke, his eyes seemingly growing wider at recognizing Hawke. “You saved the city from the Qunari.”

Hawke was still not used to that title. He guessed he had earned it, though, through hard work. He’d also lost a lot before his taking on the Qunari, all of which had influenced his decision to duel the Arishok that day – he lost his mother to a madman, his brother to a troll, and his sister to the Gallows, for starters. Everything that he had done, he had done for his family, but now that it was just him, Hawke had thrown himself into truly being the Champion of Kirkwall because the city’s people direly needed the hope that having a Champion seemed to bring. Sometimes, though, people looked to him as if he were a city guard. They brought their minor problems to him, problems that in the past he would have solved for some coin to help feed his family, but now for which he didn’t have much time. Hawke could tell from the excited way in which the beggar looked to him that he expected that the Champion of Kirkwall would take up his cause.

Indeed, the young man insisted while pointing at Fenris, “He’s a murderer. He killed four of my friends.”

Stunned to hear this, Hawke immediately assumed that the young man had been a thug of some sort. He could imagine no other reason for Fenris to have killed his friends, if the beggar was even being honest. “Did he now?” he said congenially, giving the young man a frown. “Why would he do that?”

“Hawke.” Fenris stepped closer to the beggar, his fist clenching and releasing repeatedly in an ever-increasing pace. “Let us go.”

For a brief moment, Hawke considered doing as Fenris suggested. He would shortly wish that he had left as Fenris had bid. Instead, he asked the elf, “What is he talking about?”

They stood in an irregular circle, with the dim illumination of the exit’s tunnel the only light in this part of the alleyway.  The young man fervently looked to Hawke rather than Fenris; it was the beggar who answered Hawke, questioning him with true bewilderment, “You’re the Champion, aren’t you? You’re the one who has been clearing out the trash from the city. But you know this murderer?”

“Enough. Be quiet,” Fenris warned his accuser, taking another step forward, his gauntleted hand out towards the young man. “You were spared but if you do not quiet, you will share your friends’ fate.”

The young man would not hush, not since he thought that none other than the Champion of Kirkwall was about to see justice done on his behalf. He smiled at Fenris, apparently thinking that the elf would be made to pay for his alleged crimes, “He made a deal with my friends, but then he took their money and killed them.”

Varric had kept quiet thus far, but he asked now, “What kind of deal?”

Before the man could answer, Fenris leapt forward while sliding behind his accuser. Fenris’ lyrium carved flesh glowed blindingly brightly in the shadowed corridor. Before the man knew what was happening and before Hawke could try to diffuse the situation, Fenris’ arm was jutting out from the young human’s chest on the opposite side from where he stood. Hawke stood motionless, watching the life leave the young man’s eyes, his face showing his surprise, for he had clearly thought that he was safe with the Champion of Kirkwall there. And then, with a grunt, Fenris removed his hand, the light of his lyrium markings faded, the young human fell into a heap upon the ground, and the elf was striding towards the exit.

“Wait,” he called out to the elf, but by then, Fenris was gone and Hawke and Varric were left with the corpse of a young man whose name they didn’t know, and whose accusation against Fenris was apparently veracious enough to warrant his death.


	3. Chapter 3

“What was that about?” the dwarf asked Hawke, but the warrior couldn’t answer because he had no idea.

He was determined to find out, however. When Hawke said nothing, Varric tugged at the warrior’s arm to get him moving. Eventually, someone would come this way and then there would be questions as to why the Champion of Kirkwall was standing over an unarmed man’s corpse. Hawke let himself be led away by Varric and then climbed up the ladder to the surface right behind the stout dwarf. In the bright morning sun once again, Hawke paused at the top of the ladder and dithered as to what to do. It felt wrong just to leave the unknown man’s body behind without knowing why he had died. But after another insistent tug, this time on one of his pauldrons, Hawke climbed the final few rungs and stood.

It was a short, silent walk to the Hanged Man. Inside, patrons sat around the roughhewn tables or stood at the shoddy bar. He stopped in the middle of the main room and looked around for Fenris. They had planned to come here for breakfast – or what the Hanged Man called breakfast, which consisted of boiled fish, stale but toasted bread, and watered down ale – but that was before the beggar. _It was a longshot that Fenris might actually have come here, anyway. I doubt he went to my estate, either, as we’d planned after talking to Aveline. Likely, he has gone to his borrowed mansion._

“Hawke,” Varric was hissing at him. Over the din and bustle of the Hanged Man, which was full of drunks even now, though it was not yet noon, the dwarf tugged at Hawke’s sleeve to keep him moving.

Wordlessly, Hawke nodded his greetings to those who greeted him and followed in behind Varric up the stairs and into the dwarf’s permanent lodgings. For all his wealth and resources, Varric never tried to buy an estate in Hightown, preferring instead to live amidst the raucous noise of drunks and piquant smell of ale and piss. It suited Varric, Hawke had to admit. His lodgings were well kept, however, and upon entering them, much of the noise and smell disappeared when Varric shut the thick door behind them.

Varric removed Bianca from his back and gingerly, lovingly sat her upon the long table near the fireplace ere he plopped heavily into a chair. Hawke pulled out a chair to sit, as well, but thought better of it. His mind was racing with questions and he needed to pace. He walked from one end of the table, where Varric sat, to the other end, where a bar of light laid across the floor from the tall airshaft in the wall.

“Andraste’s flaming ass,” the dwarf said without preamble. Varric pulled Bianca closer to him and took to shining the gloss of her wooden stock with the cuff of his coat. “I take it you have no idea why Fenris ripped that poor bastard’s heart out?”

It hadn’t been that long ago that Varric had warned Hawke about Fenris, telling him that as his friend, he felt obliged to warn Hawke that Fenris clearly had issues. Just from Varric’s face right now – one eyebrow cocked in amusement and a slightly smug smile – the dwarf was trying not to tell Hawke, ‘I told you so.’ Hawke stopped his pacing only long enough to face Varric when he answered, “No, I have no clue, but I’m sure there was a good reason.”

“You need to put a leash on him,” the dwarf murmured facetiously, but then winced at his own choice of words, for he knew well that Fenris had actually been made to wear a leash by Danarius when it amused the magister. Varric watched Hawke as he trod the plank floor. “I hope no one saw that, or us, either, standing over his body. As long as no one saw or says anything, nothing comes of it.”

It finally sunk into Hawke’s mind what Fenris had done. For all intents and purposes, Fenris had just murdered a human for no ostensible reason. Hawke couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it, and reassured himself, _There is a good explanation for this. I just need to find Fenris to find out what it is._

He had seen Fenris kill before, obviously; in fact, he had seen Fenris kill hundreds of people of all different races, whether mage or warrior or rogue, rich or poor. He had seen Fenris covered in blood from head to toe from slaughtering vile creatures of all kinds. Hawke knew little of the Fenris who existed before his body was branded with lyrium because Fenris knew little of that time, but Danarius had broken and refashioned Fenris into a weapon, and the elf was good at being a weapon. He was _very_ good at it.

“Wait. You mean we just keep quiet? Tell no one what Fenris has done?” he asked Varric. As soon as he said it aloud, he realized that he really had no choice in the matter.

The dwarf was looking at him as if Hawke had just grown another head. “What else can we do? Are you planning to tell Aveline that your elven lover just ripped some beggar’s heart out to keep him quiet? That poor sod was blaming Fenris for another murder, Hawke. Just what do you think would happen if you told her that? Friend or not, she’d have no choice but to put him in irons. And you know if the city guards try to arrest him, he will take out half a dozen or more before they manage to subdue him, or kill him. That’s half a dozen of Aveline’s friends. By the end, half the city will be calling for Fenris’ head.”

“Then his explanation had better be a good one. I’m going to find out what it is right now,” he swore to Varric, turning on heel to leave the dwarf’s rooms. On second thought, he stopped and walked back to the where the dwarf was still sitting at his table, idly playing with Bianca’s trigger. Although Varric had been the one to suggest they keep their mouths shut, Hawke had known the dwarf long enough to know that Varric loved to tell tales, and so asked of Varric, “Don’t say anything to anyone. Not Merrill, not Isabela, no one. And don’t go writing this down for your book. And for the love of the Maker, say nothing to Anders. He might take it to the city guard at once just to be rid of Fenris. Promise me, Varric.”

With a smile, Varric held his hands up and nodded his head, giving his oath to Hawke in telling him, “Not a word. I promise. Dwarf’s honor.”

Despite the dire circumstances, Hawke had to snicker at that. “A dwarf’s honor?”

“Fine then. I swear on Bianca,” Varric amended with feigned solemnity, placing one hand upon the crossbow as if it were a copy of the Chant of Light.

“That will have to do. I’ll come around later,” he told the dwarf as he once again made his way out of Varric’s rooms.

As quickly as he could, lest someone try to stop him for a well-intentioned chat, Hawke left the Hanged Man and stepped back out into the reek of Lowtown. As he walked on his way to Hightown past all the familiar landmarks of this poor part of the city, where he had lived with his uncle, mother, and sister prior to striking it rich in the Deep Roads, several people called out to him in greeting. He was civil but kept walking. He didn’t have time for chat.

 _Fenris killed that beggar to keep him quiet, to keep him from telling us what he thought Fenris had done. What would he have told us?_ the warrior wondered, increasing his pace as his worry mounted. _This didn’t seem like it had anything to do with Danarius or any of his bounty hunters. If it had, Fenris would have just told us. What kind of trouble is Fenris in exactly?_

When he had first come to Kirkwall, Hawke had dabbled in whatever Athenril had needed him for, but had mostly been the muscle for the smuggler’s operations. Athenril didn’t hire out for murder and for the most part was as ethical as a smuggler could hope to be, so even when working for her, Hawke’s reputation had grown for his aptitude and brawn rather than for being involved in criminal activities. Once done with his year of servitude, Hawke had taken to more reputable forms of work, some of which were shady but usually still legal. He’d helped to catch murderers, thieves, and exposed corruption in the ranks of Kirkwall’s government, but none of that quite matched his involvement in driving the Qunari out of the city. Killing the Arishok was his crowning achievement, according to the people of Kirkwall, and most loved him for it. Of course, few of them knew that one of his own friends had been the reason for the Arishok’s ill temper, and had Hawke just handed Isabela over, the Arishok might have left the city without further violence.

Hawke wasn’t a perfect person, of course, and he wasn’t the epitome of righteousness or justice that his now aggrandized reputation portrayed him to be, but Hawke always tried to do right by the people of Kirkwall. It was his home now. He could have taken the easy route and given Isabela over, but he hadn’t handed her to the Qunari because he loved his friends. With his mother, father, and brother dead, and his sister unreachable, his motley lot of friends were his family. He would do anything for them. And he loved Fenris more than the rest of them combined. He would do everything in his power to keep the elf safe and free from ever being chained again, but if Fenris had murdered people and then murdered the young man today just to keep from being found out, Hawke wasn’t quite sure what he would do.

 _Just ask him,_ he told himself when his anxiety began spiraling out of control. _You are getting ahead of yourself. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation for this._

He walked past his own estate and made his way to Fenris’ dilapidated mansion, hoping to find the elf there. His worst fear was that the paranoid elf would have taken flight to avoid his secrets being found out; his second worst fear was that the beggar hadn’t been mistaken or lying, and that Fenris was out of control and slaughtering innocent people in cold blood.

He let himself inside, his nose curling as he walked further into the quiet manse. A pungent odor filled the air and Hawke recognized it right away – wine. It was unlikely that Fenris was drinking since it was morning, but Hawke already knew that instead of a drunken elf, he would discover shattered wine bottles, glasses, dishes, and whatever else the elf could find to throw at the walls. Hawke climbed the staircase up to the second floor, where Fenris could usually be found. The door to the master bedchambers was open, letting Hawke see that Fenris had demolished anything and everything, including a down pillow that Fenris had gutted – most likely with his spiked gauntlets. The only untouched and thus not ruined items to be seen were the stacks of books that sat everywhere and littered every surface. Since learning to read, Fenris had grown voracious and coveted books as some coveted gold. In the midst of this destruction stood the elf, his back turned to Hawke to face the far wall.

“I do not wish to speak of this,” Fenris began before Hawke could say anything, while not even bothering to turn around to look at the human.

“And I am not giving you a choice,” Hawke replied firmly. Usually Hawke tended towards diplomacy and peace, but there would be little of that in the conversation that he intended to have with Fenris now. He walked further in the room but stayed by the door to block it in case the elf tried to take off, to flee as he had in Darktown rather than answer for his actions. Not bothering to blunt his words, he asked outright, “Who was that man, Fenris? And why did he claim you murdered his friends?”

Except while on the run, Fenris had spent the whole of the life that he recalled being a slave; thus, the tall elf had grown accustomed to carrying himself in a manner that made him as unnoticeable as possible while being ready for violence. Even now, with only Hawke in the room, Fenris stood slightly hunched over, his muscles tensed for battle, while wearing his armor and weapons despite that he was in a mansion that he considered his home. The elf’s tea colored skin was flushed with anger, while his eyes danced furtively around the room as if seeking out an escape. The elf was accustomed to running and regardless of the fact that Hawke posed no physical threat to the elf, Fenris would bolt if he felt threatened. He had done it before. In fact, he had done it just a couple of hours earlier, right after ripping out the heart of the young man who had made the accusations against the elf that had brought Hawke here now.

Fenris kept his regard away from Hawke, though this was not out of shame or fear, but because when the elf was murderously enraged, he tried to avoid showing this to Hawke. Hawke knew that Fenris still believed that the human would drive the elf away if he knew all that there was to know about him, if Hawke learnt of how wounded Fenris actually was.

With a patience that Hawke had learnt from years of dealing with his brother Carver, the human waited. When after several minutes, Fenris did not so much as twitch nor utter a single word, Hawke tried again, asking, “Why did you kill him if not to quiet him? Tell me.”

For the most part, Fenris was an extremely polite, eloquent, and generous person. Hawke had often thought to himself that if Fenris had not been born a slave, he would have been a scholar or a successful businessman, for the elf’s mind was sharp, despite not having had a formal education. Hawke could see Fenris imagining and then discarding each possibility for ameliorating this situation, for while his face remained stoic, his long and gracefully pointed ears twitched as he mulled over how to answer the human. Finally, Fenris said, “I could not let him drag your name through the mud. If you had not taken me to the city guards based on his claims, then he would have used that to tarnish your reputation and I still would have had to kill him later. He deserved to die, regardless, but this way, he had no chance to try to ruin you in his dispute against me.”

With a start, Hawke smiled in perplexity, for he had not expected that answer. Fenris did not lie – or at least, he did not lie to Hawke – and so he did not doubt the elf’s veracity. And yet, Fenris was not telling the whole truth. “I could have handled the city guards and I do not care if the whole of Kirkwall thinks that I consort with a murderer. Why would – ”

“I am no murderer,” the elf spat, interrupting Hawke and his calmness forgotten at the human’s unintended insult. He took a step closer to Hawke. “A killer yes, but not a murderer.”

“But you murdered that young man, just to quiet him,” he argued belligerently, his own anger mounting at the elf’s continued reticence. Hawke’s tolerance would only spread so far before he spread it too thin, and right now, with the growing tension between the mages and Templars in the city and the Gallows, Hawke did not have the patience to spare.

“Yes,” Fenris admitted, still not meeting Hawke’s questioning gaze. The elf looked like a bowstring pulled too far, as if he might snap at any moment. “I killed him to quiet him. That does not mean that he didn’t deserve to die.”

“Why? Why did he deserve to die?” the human asked in exasperation.

At last, the elf looked up to Hawke, showing that his eyes were as hard as the emeralds whose color they shared. “It is of no concern of yours.”

“No concern of mine?” he repeated with hurt disbelief.

His own anger growing in tandem with Fenris’ wrath, Hawke chanced to take a step towards Fenris, though he loathed moving away from the door. In response, Fenris took another step towards Hawke, his manner threatening – or at least, it would have been threatening had Hawke believed for a second that Fenris would attack him. To himself, the human thought, _If that man had deserved to die, wouldn’t Fenris just tell me what the poor bastard had done to deserve it?_ Hawke had dispensed justice on many occasions when it might not have been his place to do so and would not judge Fenris for doing the same.

“After all these years, you still do not trust me? You killed that man to quiet him. So what now? Do you plan to kill me to ensure your secret is safe?” he asked of Fenris, whose lyrium markings were beginning to glint with the opalescent, pure light of his rage. The clawed gauntlets the elf always wore were rasping as the metal scraped together with every clenching and unclenching of Fenris’ hand. “And Varric, too? He heard what the man said.”

“Do not speak foolishly, Hawke. I am no murderer but I will do what I must to survive, you know this. Why do you bait me? Does it amuse you to anger me, to belittle me with your doubts and inquiries?” The elf did not wait for an answer; Fenris tried to stalk past Hawke, clearly thinking that the human would give up or be too intimidated to stop him. “If all you have are more accusations, then leave. I do not wish to listen to them.”

“You will not get out of answering my questions this time, Fenris,” he warned the elf. As Fenris tried to stride by Hawke, Hawke stuck his arm out to wrap around the elf’s waist, snagging Fenris in his embrace and thereby pulling the elf to a halt. If Fenris were truly serious about being left alone, Hawke knew that he might soon be on the floor with Fenris’ gauntleted hand dripping blood from Hawke’s still beating heart. He tried to turn Fenris around to face him, but the elf was more formidable than he looked and his body remained steadfast, though he had not yet sought to extract himself from Hawke’s hold of him. “I watched you kill a man to keep him silent,” he repeated to the elf, moving to stand in front of Fenris when he couldn’t budge him, “and you think that I will shrug that off?”

Fenris did not turn away from Hawke but he kept his gaze upon the human’s exposed neck, which Hawke was not ashamed to admit worried him a bit, for he could imagine Fenris’ hand tearing out his throat. The elf always kept the windows covered and no candles or lamps were currently lit, so the room was obscured in shadows and darkness, save for the emanations from Fenris’ lyrium-scored flesh.

“Listen to me,” he implored, stooping down to try to catch the elf’s downturned line of sight and changing his tone and his tactic. “I do not care that you killed him, Fenris, as long as you had reason. But you cannot murder an unarmed man and tell me nothing.”

And still, the elf’s flashing lyrium markings were not quelled by Hawke’s assurances. They stood like that for several long moments, with Hawke’s hands lightly upon the elf’s shoulders and Fenris’ hands at his sides, seizing the air as if wishing he could wrap them around Hawke’s neck. Hawke knew by the elf’s stubborn silence that Fenris would not be answering any of his questions today, no matter what Hawke said or did. The long years of being on the run had instilled in the elf a preternatural ability to protect his privacy at all costs. Hawke knew more of Fenris than did anyone, but he also knew only as much as Fenris offered or could be made to tell. Eventually, he might have the story from Fenris, but not today.

In disappointment at the elf’s lack of trust, Hawke removed his hands, straightened his shoulders, and stepped back from Fenris. He would push the elf no further. Instead, he informed Fenris with a businesslike efficiency, “Varric and I left the body as it was. Hopefully, no one saw you, but if they did, if it is reported to the city guards, and if we are lucky, Aveline will learn of it before anyone approaches you about it. I can call in every favor she owes me to try to keep you from trouble. I don’t think anyone saw me and Varric standing over his dead body, but if there were no witnesses to you actually killing him, then I will find some way to take the blame for it.”

Immediately, Fenris argued, “No, Hawke. I will – ”

But Hawke held up one hand to silence his lover, reminding him, “Fenris… you are an elf and a runaway slave. Being my companion only shields you so much from Kirkwall’s highborn citizens and Aveline will not look the other way to protect you for murder. If that man had a family who seeks retribution, or more friends than the ones he claims you have killed, then they might raise a mob to lynch you in the courtyard if they do not get justice from the city guard, and no one will care to stop them for a runaway elven slave.”

Apparently, Fenris had not thought of this. The elf ran one of his hands over his head, not even noticing as he rubbed wine and cruor through his hoary hair. If Fenris had wanted to protect Hawke’s reputation and keep the human from becoming involved, then he had failed, and by his crestfallen face, Fenris realized this now.

“I do not know if there are more of them,” the elf alluded quietly, speaking as if he were thinking aloud rather than to Hawke. Heedless of the sharpened claw-like tips to his gauntlets, Fenris drew one hand down his face, unknowingly writing in blood a line over his right temple and down that cheek. “I did not even know that he stayed in Kirkwall. I thought they were all dead, or at least, all the ones who might know who I am.”

Hawke’s curiosity was piqued evermore with these recondite ponderings, but he settled for asking of Fenris only what the human needed most to know, “I won’t ask why again, but just tell me there was a reason, Fenris.”

At this, the elf’s bristling, aggressive demeanor relaxed gradually, while his incisive eyes look upon the human as he gauged how best to answer Hawke. Seeing a way out of Hawke’s inquiries that would allow him to avoid confessing but appease the human, for Fenris no more liked for Hawke to be irritated with him than did Hawke, the elf admitted, “I had reason. I promise you.”

The elf didn’t say that he had a good reason. He didn’t say that he had a logical reason. However, Hawke had faith in Fenris. Even still, although he nodded at the elf and held his palms up to signify that he would back down from the topic, Hawke knew that he would never let this rest until he had the truth. Even if nothing came of the man’s murder, Hawke needed to be certain that Fenris was not in some trouble about which he was too proud to tell Hawke.

He smiled fleetingly at Fenris. “Then that is all I need to know.” To himself, he added, _For now._

Fenris did not return his smile but Hawke could tell that the elf was finally pacified that Hawke would leave this alone. Even the nervous twitching of the elf’s lively ears had calmed.

“I need to go see Aveline about the slavers,” he told Fenris as he began out of the room. Hawke could hide his disappointment no longer. He needed to go before Fenris realized that his mendacity, before the elf saw that the human was not truly placated at all. By way of excuse, he told the elf as he walked from the room, “Besides, if anyone has reported seeing what happened to the city guard yet, Aveline might have heard. I would rather nip this in the bud than let it bloom.”

Fenris followed Hawke to the door to the room, and then further followed him down the stairs, trailing behind the human as if reluctant to see him go, despite having moments ago demanded that Hawke leave. When Hawke had his hand on the door that led out into Hightown, Fenris asked quietly, “Will you be at the Hanged Man this evening for cards?”

The elf could face a horde of darkspawn, trolls, magisters, slavers, spiders, and had even helped Hawke, Varric, and Merrill slay a high dragon. Fenris had spent years on the run, hiding and stealing and never forming friendships out of fear of betrayal or loss. He had grown used to having nothing but what he could carry and no one to whom to turn. However, from almost the day that Fenris met Hawke and enlisted his help in trying to free himself from Danarius, Fenris had let down his guard around the human. Hawke was fairly certain that if Fenris never saw Kirkwall, this mansion that he squatted in, or any of their friends again, or if he lost all that he owned, then none of it would hurt as much as being betrayed or spurned by Hawke. The two lovers fought like anyone else, certainly, but their anger never lasted. For Fenris, though, just the chance that Hawke’s anger might not fade, that he might have done something to permanently drive a wedge between them, caused Fenris anxiety.

With his back to Fenris and his hand on the doorknob, Hawke could not see the panic upon Fenris’ face. He cogitated quickly, _If Fenris won’t tell me who that man was or what is going on, then I will find out for myself._ Not aware that his slowness to answer was causing Fenris’ unease to worsen, Hawke decided, _After I talk to Aveline, I am going to find the answers that Fenris won’t give._

“Hawke?” the elf asked, unease tingeing his gruff voice.

Pulled from his thoughts, Hawke turned around and gave Fenris another fleeting, sad smile. “Not tonight. I have other plans.”

With that, Hawke left to do as he had said, to find Aveline first before he found his answers, while leaving a concerned elf behind.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly abandoned this due to negativity in the fandom, but then I decided I would just post another chapter and keep deleting the negative comments. So look, if you don't like M!Hawke or M!Hawke/Fenris, just don't read it, ok? Go write your own story and leave me alone. Otherwise, enjoy.

Hawke usually found it hard to go unnoticed in Kirkwall. Unlike most of the city’s citizens save for the city guard and Templars, Hawke always wore his armor and was armed to the teeth. It had saved his life numerous times but it also drew unwanted attention. He was also not one for artifice in most situations. Varric had once told Hawke that the only tool warriors knew how to use was a hammer – as a rogue, Varric tried to take subtler approaches to most situations, whereas Hawke usually just strode into the midst of the fighting and started swinging his sword. Dressed in only plain, dark clothing, with a cloak pulled up to cover his head and face, Hawke felt naked without his armor. He also felt defenseless without his sword. The warrior carried only a dagger that was barely more than a sharpened butter knife compared to his usual assortment of weaponry.

However, it would be counterproductive to walk into Darktown to find information if everyone clammed up with him around. And they would – if the Champion of Kirkwall showed in Darktown, likely, someone was going to die for their wrongdoings, and no one would want to be the tattler who aided someone else getting caught. Snitches did not live long in Darktown. They were bad for business.

After leaving Fenris, Hawke’s first stop had been to the Viscount’s Keep to speak to Aveline, but the captain of the guard had not been around at the time. So, he’d left a message with Donnic to let Aveline know about the slavers’ bodies that he, Varric, Fenris, and Anders had left. Unfortunately, without Aveline there, Hawke hadn’t been able to ask her if anyone had reported the body of the beggar or if anyone had brought any information about his death to her. He nearly asked Donnic; although he liked Aveline’s husband, Hawke wasn’t sure he wanted to bring the guard into it. He knew he could trust Aveline to help him, even if in doing so she teetered on the line between enforcing the law and breaking it, but he didn’t share the same history with Donnic as he did with Aveline.

_I should have brought something to eat,_ he chastised himself as his belly rumbled in protest. Hawke had already missed breakfast and lunch, and in his eagerness to complete his task, he had left the estate before the simple dinner Bodahn was making for them had finished cooking. After leaving the Viscount’s Keep, Hawke had gone home to his estate, searched through his clothing to find something suitable, wrestled with his mabari for a while to distract his mind, listened with Sandal to Bodahn’s stories of Orzammar while the dwarf cleaned the fireplace, and then once night fell, he had changed clothing and used the clandestine exit of the estate’s vault under the house to enter Darktown. Now, he slipped out the door, which locked behind him, and wondered, _Where would be the best place to lurk in hopes of overhearing something?_

He took no more than two strides towards the steps that led towards the greater part of Darktown before a voice behind him asked, “Sneaking out, are you?”

The warrior whirled around quickly, his hand flying to where his sword ought to have been, only to recall that he had left it to avoid his being noticed. He didn’t need it anyway – Anders stood at the door to his clinic, which he then shut behind him.

“And why are you dressed like that?” Anders added as he walked to where Hawke stood at the steps. The healer peered into the cowl of his cloak to see the warrior’s face. “What are you doing, Hawke?”

Keeping his voice low, Hawke answered with a wry grin, “I’m trying to keep from everyone knowing who I am. So if you could please stop shouting my name,” he suggested with a flippant smirk for the mage, “you’d be doing me a favor.”

“Is it about the man who was murdered nearby?” the mage asked him, matching Hawke’s quiet tone. Anders smoothed back his hair from where it was perpetually falling out of the short tail in which he kept it.

Hawke couldn’t hide his surprise. He should have known that Anders would have heard about it. The healer lived in Darktown, after all, and unlike Varric, Anders didn’t need a complex network of spies or contacts to keep tabs on the goings on in the Undercity of Kirkwall. No, Anders lived where the action took place and often ended up treating the wounds of those involved.

“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly why I’m here. What are people saying?” Hawke climbed down the stairs and then back up the other set, wandering somewhat aimlessly since he still had not decided where was best to rout out information, although it seemed that Anders might have some rumors to share if nothing else, rumors that might facilitate Hawke in making up his mind.

“They are saying that a man’s heart was torn out of his chest. I didn’t see it for myself,” Anders told him, keeping pace with Hawke and not even asking him where he was going, but following along all the same, “but it was Fenris, wasn’t it? A heart torn out of a chest… I mean, how could it not be Fenris?”

Pausing to give the mage a pleading look, Hawke asked of Anders, “Can you keep that to yourself? And please, not so loud.”

Anders smiled the most genuine smile that Hawke had seen grace his face in a long time. Lately, Anders’ smiles were few and fleeting, but this one lit his whole being, reminding Hawke of the old Anders, the one whom he’d met years ago, before the mage’s life had been consumed with plans for revolt and revolution. He valued the new, somber Anders just as much as the old, cheerier Anders, but it was pleasant to see the mage smiling and Hawke couldn’t help but to grin right back at him.

“Keep it to myself? I only just said it to you and no one else. Do you think I would rat out Fenris?” the mage asked in amused disbelief.

Hawke didn’t want to admit that he had feared that very thing. Anders was not a vindictive or petty man. He cared for people in a way that Hawke admired, that Hawke sometimes envied, truth be told. Out of a passionate need to be of service, to help the unfortunate, and to establish fair rights to the oppressed, Anders had devoted his time and used what little money he made to finance his clinic and provide for the patients who came to him for help without a coin to their name to repay him. Because of his kindness and because he never turned anyone away, regardless of their past, their race, or their occupation, his clinic was one of the safest places in Kirkwall. He never had to fear thieves or racketeering, as the underworld guilds used him for their wounded as much as did the beggars, farmers, city elves, and other unfortunates of Kirkwall. Hawke suddenly felt foolish for doubting the mage to Varric earlier.

When he didn’t answer Anders, the mage’s smile slipped from his face and he turned away to look down the alley from which they had walked. He didn’t press the issue but asked instead, “Did he do it?”

Hawke stopped walking for a moment; with a sigh, he leant his back against the roughhewn stone of the alley’s wall, answering truthfully, “He did. But he had good reason.”

“Except,” the astute mage offered, turning back to face Hawke, “you don’t know what that reason is, else you wouldn’t be in Darktown after sunset, alone, dressed like a beggar, looking for information.”

_Anders doesn’t miss much, does he?_ he told himself sardonically. With just a few questions, Anders had sussed out the entirety of Hawke’s plans and motives.

“No, I don’t know his reasons. He wouldn’t say. But he gave me his word that it was for good cause. Fenris is not a murderer,” he assured Anders although even to his own ears it sounded hollow, as if he were trying to convince himself of it. At Anders’ shake of his head, Hawke knew that the mage was thinking of the Frog Warriors or any of the other countless victims of Fenris’ violence from when the elf was a slave. Hawke quickly amended, “None of what happened before he was free counts, Anders. He did what he had to do to survive Danarius. You know Fenris. He does not kill needlessly or without just cause. ”

Anders seemed to be considering this, but soon he nodded before imitating Hawke’s position by leaning next to Hawke with his back against the wall beside the warrior. “No, you’re right. He’s not a murderer. A killer yes, but a murderer, no.”

Hawke sighed deeply, unaware that he’d been holding his breath in anticipation that Anders would disagree with him.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Anders inquired softly, “If you trust him and believe him, then why are you here looking for answers? If he wants you to know, he will tell you.”

Guilt coursed through Hawke’s belly, making him shift uncomfortably. “I trust him and I believe him, yes, but…” The warrior trailed off. He felt disloyal in talking to Anders about Fenris, being that the mage had made it so clear that he thought the elf was bad for Hawke.

Luckily for Hawke, Anders was insightful and seemed to know what the warrior was trying to say, for he clarified for Hawke, “You’re worried that he might be in trouble and is too proud or stubborn to ask for help or admit that he’s done something wrong, that he might seek to hide it because he fears losing you more than he fears losing his life.”

Again, the perceptive mage had hit the proverbial nail on the head as if he could read Hawke’s mind. But still, Hawke did not agree or disagree with Anders, as it still felt wrong to him to be speaking of Fenris behind the elf’s back, especially to Anders. He didn’t need to agree, though, and the mage placed a sympathetic, friendly hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “Well, I had planned to go to the Hanged Man to join the card game, maybe drink an ale, if Justice will let me enjoy it,” he told Hawke with another smile. “But if you want, I can keep you company while you investigate. Besides, even the Champion ought not to walk around Darktown after sunset without a weapon.”

“You want to help? I mean, you’d do that for Fenris?” he asked, bewildered that Anders cared enough to want for the elf to be safe. “You hate Fenris.”

Anders chortled softly. “I don’t hate Fenris, I just don’t like him. But I’m offering for you, Hawke. I want you to be happy, and if Fenris makes you happy, then I’m willing to do what I can to protect him. And if you want the truth about the man the elf killed this morning, then you need to go talk to Jackson. Come on.”

When Anders began walking off, Hawke hurried to follow him. “Thank you,” he told the mage, clapping Anders lightly on the back in amicable affection, before he realized what Anders had said. “Wait. Jackson? Who’s he? How do you know this?”

Not answering just yet, Anders shushed Hawke and then led them down what looked like an empty alleyway, but Darktown was rife with litter, empty crates and barrels, and niches in which its inhabitants hid and lived. Stopping in the middle of the alley, Anders looked both ways for signs of life. When he was satisfied that they might not be overhead, Anders relayed, “Actually, ale and cards were not the only reasons I was going to the Hanged Man. I’d hoped to find you to tell you all this. Earlier this afternoon, a man came in with some bruises and a couple broken ribs. He asked me about the young man who died, asked me if I knew how someone could have his heart ripped from his chest like that. I knew it had to be Fenris. Who else can rip a man’s heart out with his hands except Fenris?” the mage jested darkly, snorting a mirthless laugh.

“And what did you tell him?” Hawke asked nervously. Although Anders had only just assured the warrior that he would do what he could to protect Fenris since Fenris made Hawke happy, he also knew Anders’ mind and actions were sometimes domineered by Justice’s intangible, inseparable presence. If Justice determined that Fenris murdered the young man in cold blood, Anders might have told his patient what he knew to appease Justice’s need for… well, justice.

If Anders took note of Hawke’s uneasiness, he did not show it. Once more looking both ways down the alley, the mage answered, “I told him that I didn’t know and asked him if he knew the dead man. He told me that he did. He said that he worked for their association as a recruiter.”

_Association? The young man this morning looked like a beggar. He said that Fenris killed four of his friends. Were they part of this association?_ the warrior considered. As glad as he was that Anders had information that he could use, Hawke was only growing more confused by the mage’s esoteric answers. “Why did he offer all this information? What kind of association?”

Anders motioned with his head towards a small alcove in the middle of the alley. Surrounded by empty bottles and a bloodied shirt that looked like it had been there long enough to begin growing mold, there sat a ladder that led down a hole into the depths of Kirkwall’s thriving, typically criminal underbelly. “Firstly, he was drunk. He’d had half a bottle of moonshine to kill the pain of his broken ribs, so he talked more than he likely should have. Secondly, he tried to enlist me to heal for them. From what I gather, he and his group have a place set up down there, somewhere,” the mage explained as he pointed towards the hole in the ground with the rickety ladder, “where they take bets on who wins in fights.”

As far as illicit activity went, gambling on fistfights was tame in Hawke’s thinking, and he couldn’t reconcile Fenris’ assurance of his motive behind killing the young man with what Anders told him. Harkening back to what the beggar and the elf had said to him today, Hawke wondered, _Did Fenris make a deal with one of these groups to fight?_

“You should know,” Anders told Hawke, interrupting the warrior’s thoughts, “Jackson told me that there is a bounty out on whoever killed the young man this morning – for his capture, not his death.”

The warrior’s belly clenched and his every muscle tensed, as if he were about to step into battle. Just the threat of Fenris being taken captive made Hawke wish he had brought his sword. He contemplated, _Fenris killed that man this morning to try to keep this secret, but why?_ Hawke liked to believe that he knew Fenris, that he understood him, but if Fenris’ good cause for killing the man was to hide his having killed the man’s friends – who sounded like nothing more than gamblers – then Hawke didn’t know Fenris at all. _The beggar – or recruiter, I suppose – said that Fenris killed four of his friends after taking their money. Fenris has done shady things in the past to get by, but he would not have robbed those men and then killed them. Something else is going on here._

Hawke stepped closer to peer down into the opening, though he could see nothing – not even where the ladder ended. Anders trod near to Hawke and stared down into the hole, as well, adding, “Jackson said that if I heard any gossip about who could have done it he would pay me well for the information.”

His mind working quickly, Hawke considered his options. He was too recognizable just to walk into their denizen of gambling and fighting and start poking around for answers. He lacked the skill at lying to cozen his way into their trust. _Then what do I do?_ he asked himself. _What if I find out that there is nothing more to this than a group of men fighting each other for coin? What if I find that Fenris truly killed those men after backing out of their deal, taking their money and their lives?_ There was only one way to find out – he would need to ask. Fenris might have thought that killing the young man this morning had solved his problems and might keep Hawke out of it, but now, Hawke was fully entrenched in this dilemma because Fenris’ well-being was in jeopardy. Determined now to protect the elf, Hawke put aside his questions of his elven lover’s motivations, telling himself, _Why Fenris did it isn’t as important right now as is keeping him safe._

“Seems like I skipped dinner and dressed like a beggar for nothing. I should have just come to ask you.” His mind made up, he queried Anders, “Did this Jackson tell you how to get into contact with him?”

The mage startled and frowned at the warrior whom he had followed for the last several years, with whom he had risked life and limb, who had aided him in endeavors to protect mages when no one else would dare to go against the Templars, and who he respected and loved more than was healthy for him. “Why? I know you aren’t considering turning Fenris over to them, so what’s your plan, Hawke?”

His whiskered face breaking out into the dazzling smile that had first attracted Anders to him, Hawke admitted, “I don’t know just yet. I want to talk to this Jackson, though, and see what he knows.”


End file.
